


impaled

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Old Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Atlus has just blasted an asteroid to smithereens in a fit of frustration over something undoubtedly trivial, and it has left Kalirama undeniably hot and bothered. Destruction does that for her. Displays ofpowerdoes that for her.It sure is a good thing that she’s married to the strongest entity in existence, then.





	impaled

Atlus has just blasted an asteroid to smithereens in a fit of frustration over something undoubtedly trivial, and it has left Kalirama undeniably hot and bothered. Destruction does that for her. Displays of  _ power  _ does that for her. 

It sure is a good thing that she’s married to the strongest entity in existence, then. 

“Sweetheart,” she says, making her voice go compassionate, her hips sway. “You seem frustrated.” 

Atlus makes a series of blustery flustered noise that can’t really be described as intelligible. Irritated beyond words, then. She has a feeling she knows which member of their pantheon is to blame for this. 

“Poor thing,” she says. “You put up with a lot.” 

“I  _ do. _ I do!” he says. “Foolish, ungrateful-- can’t go a single meeting without taking a potshot--!” 

“You work very hard,” she says. 

“Yes. Thank you! If only  _ he--”  _

_ “I  _ appreciate you,” she says, already knowing how his sentence will end. They’ve been married for a very, very long time now. She prides herself on keeping the spark alive. 

“You do,” he says, and he sounds less furious and more fond for just a moment, looking at her for an instance instead of just angrily pacing as he has until now, hands gesturing expressively. 

“Do you appreciate me?” she asks leadingly. 

“I-- of course, my wife, I would burn a thousand planets to ashes for you.” 

She hums, smiling. “What if I didn’t feel like I wanted planet ashes, today?” 

“That’s usually a sure bet,” he mutters to himself worriedly. “Do you want a star, my love? I’ll pluck the largest one from any solar system you desire.” 

He’s such a  _ romantic.  _

“That sounds lovely. But, consider this.” And then she makes her armor evaporate into gunpowder smoke, leaving her form bare for his eyes to see. She crosses one pair of arms underneath her breasts, one hand going to her hip, and the fourth carding through her long dark blue hair. She licks blue lips with a black tongue, her three luminescent red slit pupiled eyes going half lidded with suggestion, lust. 

Atlus freezes for a moment in surprise, and really, she’s so glad that she can still surprise him. And then, he snaps back into motion. 

“I-- why yes, that is an excellent point, beloved!” he says, transparently excited, and she wouldn’t be able to stop her smile even if she’d wanted to. 

His armor disappears as well, although he prefers a more showy bright method than she. It’s like the plates are being eaten up by starlight; absolutely blinding to look at if you’re mortal. The last sparkle finally fades away, and there he is, now standing before her as bare as she. She takes a moment admire him for the one millionth time, this time as sweet as the first, and he poses and preens at her attentions, flexing. 

Her husband has eyes and lashes of gold, skin like marble (literally, darker swirls and veins painted across his body, reminding her of the best temples of old), and swan feathers where his hair should be; on his head, his chest, the backs of his arms. She’d told him that would happen if he kept shifting into that one form. He didn’t seem upset at all when they started to grow in. 

And of course, he’s absolutely gigantic. Tall, wide, muscular, looming.  _ Perfect.  _

“Aren’t you going to pick me up, handsome?” she prompts him. 

“Anything,” he tells her, and sweeps her up into his arms. His grip is as secure as a statues, and she ends up perched high enough that he has to crane his neck up to kiss her. She leans down and indulges him, herself. Smooths his head feathers down, hand on the back of his neck, on his shoulder, running up and down his back. “Anything you desire.” 

“The bed, then,” she decides imperiously. 

“I believe that can be done.” He takes a single step, and in that step they leave the asteroid belt he’d been fuming on, and into their bedroom, light years away. Years away as well. He lays her down reverently on the bed, and she smirks up at him. He is fully aware that she likes it rough. 

“You tease,” she says, and then opens her four arms beckoningly. Spreads her legs invitingly. “Come on, there’s space for you now.” 

The bed is vast, accommodating, for luxury and for when Atlus is feeling ten feet taller than usual. He slots himself into the space between her legs, boxes her in with his arms pillowed around her head, his face hovering inches away from hers. Close, intimate, warm. Kisses her, deep and thorough and just right, practiced enough with her mouth that it must be as familiar to him as his own. 

“Spear yourself on me already,” she tells him breathlessly. 

_ “Yes, _ my wife,” he says, sits up, lines up his entrance with her cock, and slides down, torturously slow and wet, clenching. 

Kalirama tilts her head back and  _ moans, _ her hands raking down his thighs, twisting the sheets, pulling at her hair. He feels overwhelming. Of course, the god of god’s should by logic be the greatest lay in the galaxy. It makes perfect sense, and Kalirama isn’t biased in the slightest. 

She reaches out with a hand and grips his cock. 

“Move, darling,” she breathes, and strokes him. 

Atlus moves. He grinds down with his pelvis, and she sucks in a dizzying breath at the feel of him taking her to the base of herself, at being so deeply impaled in him. And then he moves up, delicious heat and slick and friction and horrible  _ leaving,  _ except then he slams back down. Her breath whooses back out of her. 

After a solid three seconds, enough brain cells return to her for her to remember to keep stroking him. She does so, pumping him in the rhythm he sets, running a hand up his side, steadying him with another on his hip. She has to bite down on a few fingers on her fourth hand from the want of biting him. 

Atlus’ feathers are all messed up, ruffled. Panting. Looking at her in  _ that  _ way. 

Her entrance aches. She wonders if she could pleasure herself with a hand there without getting in Atlus’ way. 

“Kali,” he pleas. “Please, let me hear you sing my praises.” 

So needy. She smiles, fond, warmth in her chest. 

She stops biting, taking her fingers out of her mouth. They’re bleeding from her fangs, and she doesn’t bother healing them yet. Pain feels good with Atlus sliding up and down her length. Like a delicious wine paired with the finest meal. 

“You’re a piece of art,” she says. “You’re a force of nature. Indomitable, wonderful, unstoppable, breathtaking.” 

He smiles, encouraged, delighted, and thrusts himself down on her with such force all three of her eyes go cross eyed for just a moment. She blinks rapidly, and comes back to herself moaning with wanton shamelessness. 

He looks so pleased with himself, the minx. She smacks him sharply on one ass cheek, and he gasps and laughs. She grins with her bloody fangs. 

“Look at you, you fucking _ machine,” _ she goes on. “In both senses of the word. You really dont,  _ ah--”  _ He pulls a move that makes her squeeze his cock in reaction, making him clench down on her in counter reaction, and then they’re both stunned together for a moment by each other, and then  _ one _ of them starts moving again, and they’re back on track, all the more frenzied for the spike in their steady, punishing rhythm. “You really don’t stop,” she croaks belatedly. 

“I don’t stop for anything,” he gloats. 

“Mm, yes, my husband,” she says, stroking his cock and his leg and his side and his arm in a domestic kind of worship. 

“I’m never beaten,” he says. 

“No,” she agrees, petting along his feathers, getting increasingly ruffled with sweat. 

“I’m stunning.” 

“Yes.” 

“Awe inspiring!” 

“Yes!” 

“Devastating!” 

_ “Yes!”  _

He leans in close, as far as he can towards her face while still working himself on her. 

“And all yours,” he says. 

She comes with a cry, and then she’s lunging up for him and flipping him over onto his back, thrusting into him with all of her might as goddess of war, death, destruction, and time. Hooking one of his legs over her shoulder, angling her hips just right, ruthless and merciless, burying fangs into the meat of his shoulder and neck, claiming and bloody, hungry. 

She makes him come with her seed still warm inside of him, his own splattering onto their stomachs. Her cock slips out of his entrance as smoothly as her dagger does through a mortal’s flesh. She collapses on top of him as he’s still stunned and nuzzles into his neck, licking at his blood. It’s the color of auroras and tastes like supernovas. 

After a long moment of languorous licking and kneading and groping of his beautiful sculpted muscles, there’s a sniffle right next to her ear. 

He always gets teary eyed after sex. 

She smiles and strokes his feathers, his face, his wet cheek. 

“There, there,” she says warmly, and that’s all that needs to be said for the waterworks to _ really _ get going. 

He weeps into her bosom, and she embraces him with all four of her arms, whispering sweet nothings into the top of his head. 

“You’re such a wonderful wife,” he sobs. 

“Yes,” she agrees. “A wonderful wife for a wonderful husband.” 


End file.
